Chapter 11 Jude
JUDE
“Alright, folks, Steph’ll flag any trees and plants needing inspection or showing signs of disease.
” I grab a roll of flagging tape from the truck and throw it to Steph, who catches it deftly.
I raise my eyebrows and point a finger at her.
“Impressive reaction time for a Monday morning. Nice.” Steph gives me a smug look from under her ball cap, crossing her muscular arms over her chest.
Clipboard in hand, I scan down the list of tasks to assign to my team, absentmindedly drumming my pencil along the edge as I delegate.
“Dimitri, you’re pulling up the dead stuff and invasives,” I say, lifting my chin at the dead plants across the clearing. “I’ll set up a tarp for you.”
“Okay, boss,” Dimitri says, a look of determination crossing his sharp features. He reaches up and runs a hand through his dark hair. Dimitri is easily the hardest worker on my team and looks it: his wiry frame is packed with lean muscle, and he has a perpetual air of exhaustion about him.
I still smile when I hear Dimitri, or any of my team, call me boss. It was initially a tongue-in-cheek thing a few years back when I’d hired him, fresh out of college, but the nickname ended up sticking. Then the rest of the team picked up the habit.
“Mitch,” I continue, directing my attention to the oldest member of my crew.
He’s in his late forties, with bristly, graying hair and deep creases in his forehead, the years of working out in the sun having made him look older than he is.
“You can start marking out the utility lines.” I pull a map of the property out of my back pocket and hand it over.
“Then you can help me flag out the section we’re going to be calling the too far gone area.
” I gesture with the clipboard across the clearing, pointing to a lumpy section of rock, weeds, and tall grass.
Mitch glances over his shoulder and gives me a quick nod.
“And Teddy, you’re on branches. Grab a ladder.”
Teddy, a barrel-chested guy in his mid-thirties with thinning blond hair, holds up his lopping shears. “Can do,” he says with a smirk. He has the appearance and personality of an overgrown kid.
The team moves off to get started as I climb into the truck bed to grab a tarp and some stake flags.
A vehicle rumbles toward the driveway and I look up, expecting Charles or Carol with their groceries, or possibly another work vehicle for something related to the house renovation.
A small silver hatchback I don’t recognize emerges from the trees, and I stand slowly, my vantage point atop the truck giving me a better view.
I don’t know why I’m so curious; plenty of tradespeople are coming and going from the site as the renovations get underway.
Except that’s a lie. I know exactly who I’m waiting to see.
I look away and take a breath, determined to focus on the job in front of me.
Jumping down from the truck bed, I circle around to the passenger door, letting Murphy out to join us.
It’s an unusually warm, spring-like day, and he can amble around out here comfortably while we work.
Our unofficial mascot, he joins me on the job site most days.
He never gets underfoot, just alternates between sleeping and receiving head scratches and belly rubs from anyone who will indulge him.
Behind me, I hear a car door closing.
“Is he yours?”
I know her voice before I even turn around and catch myself smiling.
I don’t want to seem too eager, so I take my time closing the door before turning to face her.
When I do, Olena is standing outside her car, Murphy lumbering over to her to say hello.
She stoops down to meet him, extending her open hand, which he nuzzles and licks.
“Hi, there,” she says softly, crouching down now and ruffling the fur around Murphy’s neck with both hands.
I can’t help but smile.
He is loving the attention. He noses Olena’s face, licking her cheek.
“Oh, wow, that tickles, buddy,” Olena laughs and rubs at her face with her sleeve.
“Sorry, he’s not normally like that with people,” I say.
“Oh, I don’t mind.” She throws me a quick smile.
It’s true. Murphy’s gotten old enough that this puppy-like display of affection is rare for him. He’s normally not fussed enough by anyone to even get up—unless they have food for him.
“Do you have a dog? Treats in your pocket or something?” I’m a bit baffled that he’s acting so excited.
“No, no dog, no dog treats.” Olena smiles again and shrugs as she scratches around his ears and under his chin.
Her eyes lift to mine at the same moment that Murphy pushes his face into hers again, knocking her off balance.
She stumbles a step in her crouched position, catching herself with an outstretched hand.
She looks back to me, laughing. “What’s his name? ”
“Murphy,” I reply, entranced by watching them together. “And yeah, he’s mine.”
“He’s beautiful.” Olena beams, still stroking his fur affectionately.
You’re beautiful, I stop myself from saying.
I run a hand through my hair and tear my eyes away from Olena and Murphy, making a point of rummaging through a bag in the truck instead.
“Hey, boss, you got that tarp?” Dimitri calls out from across the clearing, holding a few dead plants he’s already hauled up.
“Yeah, be right there!” I call back, then turn back to Olena. “I assume you’re here to do a bit of recon?”
“Yeah,” Olena says, standing, then adjusting her footing with a smile as Murphy slumps heavily onto his side at her feet.
“I thought I’d get some measurements and take more photos, take a plant inventory, that kind of thing.
” She tucks her hair behind her ear and readjusts the heavy-looking bag on her shoulder.
“Okay, well, let me know if you need anything from me,” I say.
Something in her expression changes for the briefest moment before she looks away. “Sure, sounds good.” She starts looking through her bag and pulls out a notebook and measuring tape.
I blow out a breath and plod across the tall grass to Dimitri, leaving Olena in the driveway. Passing by the base of Teddy’s ladder, I hear his voice from above my head.
“Who’s that?” Tilting his head in Olena’s direction, he raises his eyebrows.
I stop and turn back to look at her. “Olena MacMillan. The designer,” I reply, then look up at Teddy.
“Murph’s sure in love already,” he adds, smirking.
“Yeah, he’s a sucker for a good head scratch, I guess.” Murphy’s now rolling at her feet as she rubs his belly indulgently, her hair falling softly forward. I shake my head at my old dog’s unexpected antics.
“Ah, I dunno,” Teddy says, cutting a branch and letting it fall to the ground. “Dogs can tell, man.”
“What do you mean?” I squint up at him, the sunshine filtering through the branches of the tree he’s working on.
He shrugs. “You know, they can tell if people are good or bad… like, on the inside,” he says, looking at them appraisingly. “And from the looks of it, old Murph isn’t finding any red flags.” He grins at me. “Just saying. Dogs can tell.”
By midmorning, we’ve got two tarps full of debris to haul out between the dead plants and the cut branches.
I’m taking stock of our progress, surveying which trees need attention next, when my eyes settle on Olena across the main yard.
She’s near the house, crouching down and squinting through a DSLR camera to photograph the overgrown pathway and nearby garden beds.
As if sensing my eyes on her, she turns briefly from the viewfinder and meets my gaze with a small smile.
She looks back through the camera and snaps a few shots, then lowers it, standing to look at the preview on the screen.
I realize I was so focused on keeping my shit together when she arrived that I haven’t introduced her to my team.
Her back is turned to me as I walk over.
I drink in the sight of her as she gathers her hair in both hands and pulls it back, twisting it up into a messy bun.
I slow my pace and take a deep breath, trying not to stare at her neck as she secures her hair with an elastic and readjusts her camera strap.
Small, wispy waves bounce loose from her haphazard topknot, falling around her ears, glowing auburn in the sun.
Her movements seem to be happening in slow motion and I shake my head, returning to reality.
Just act normal. Pretend you’re talking to Teddy.
As I approach, she turns toward me and smiles. She looks… almost shy.
I clear my throat. “Hey,” I say, “if you’ve got a minute, I thought I could introduce you to my crew.” I gesture over my shoulder with my thumb in the general direction of my team.
“Oh, sure.” She grins bravely and picks up her bag to follow me.
I have to remind myself to stop staring at her mouth. That smile is going to be the death of me.
Steph is tying flagging tape around the trunk of a tree not far away, so we head toward her first. As we walk, the silence between us feels thick.
I have no idea what to say or do around this woman.
I try to look anywhere but at Olena, though I can feel all my senses heightened just being next to her.
Olena finally breaks the tension. “For what it’s worth, I promise not to call anyone an asshole today.”
Her quiet joke takes a second to land due to the swirling thoughts in my head.
I let out a breath, both surprised and amused. “Well, it would be poor form on day one, for sure,” I tease, relieved I managed something remotely smooth in response.
“Ooh, ouch!” She feigns offense, wrinkling her nose at me.
“Too close to home?” I raise an eyebrow.
“No, I absolutely deserved that,” she says as she lowers her eyes, letting out a soft chuckle and tucking a fallen wisp of hair behind her ear.
I’m immediately desperate to hear her laugh like that again. I look away. Keep it together.